Introductory Character Analysis
by Ifwecansparkle
Summary: Jeff assumes Abed is above it all. Abed assumes he isn't allowed to approach. Jeff and Abed friendship fic.


Abed unnerves Jeff in a way. The ex-lawyer has moved from a place of thinking, comfortingly, that Abed unnerves everybody and he is no exception, to suspecting that maybe he is more uncomfortable in the face of his unwavering (and yet somehow completely devoid of eye contact) gaze, and unaffected tone. He isn't used to being uncomfortable around people, and he manages to take the rest of Greendale more or less in stride, because people can be as malleable as the truth if you try hard enough, and at any rate he would have more respect and deference for his peers if he actually thought of them as peers.

Abed is different, though. He is the absolute opposite of Jeff. Abed keeps his hair efficiently combed to one side. Abed dresses for comfort, in jeans and hoodies and tee-shirts that Jeff suspects he may be a a couple of years too old to wear in a way that doesn't get you odd looks in the grocery store (not that he suspects Abed does much grocery shopping). Abed walks with an awkward gait that is half rocking motion and half hopping, and doesn't help him blend in with a crowd. Abed can't sit still, or speak without the hopeful comfort of movie-quote maps to guide him through the minefield of human interaction, and furthermore he seems fine with that. Abed, Jeff realizes with something between horror and envy, doesn't care. He doesn't care in the same easy way that Jeff pretends not to. And that bothers him.

That drives him crazy.

So one day he mentions it, casually (because of course he doesn't care), while the rest of the group is taking a bathroom break, and Abed is drawing designs in eraser dust. "Hey, uh, Abed?"

"Yeah?" The younger man raises his head to sort-of look at Jeff and sort-of look at the doorframe behind him.

"Believe me when I say that I never thought I'd be coming to you for advice, but let's face it, my life is already at rock bottom, so why not dig a little deeper?" This undercurrent of real, biting insult is unusual in what Abed would probably refer to as post-first-season-finale-development-arc-Jeff, but this is new territory for him, and he figures that if he has to have a flaw, a natural defensiveness in asking for advice isn't  
the worst one he could have. Abed quirks an eyebrow at him, which is as much of an invitation as he is going to get to continue. He leans forward like it's all some kind of conspiracy, and questions, "How do you do it?"

Abed glances uncertainly at the eraser dust drawings, and Jeff huffs out half of a chuckle. "No, not that," he responds to the unanswered question, and Abed nods slightly, relieved to have that cleared up.

"I'm not really sure what you're talking about, Jeff. If you're looking for advice on this assignment, you should probably ask Annie. Or Shirley, but don't tell Annie I said that. Just a hunch."

"Not the homework," Jeff says with the other half of the earlier chuckle, because he can do dioramas in his sleep at this point, and because thank God Abed is worse at this part than he is. He taps a finger against the table underneath his hand in order to drive home his point as he speaks again. "You don't care about anything."

Abed takes a moment to register this, and his eyebrows almost knit together like he can't decide if this is an insult or not, but is giving it the benefit of the doubt for now. He waits for Jeff to clarify.

"You don't give a damn what people think about you, Abed. What I want to know is how you do that," Another reason Abed unsettles Jeff is that he can't beat around the bush with him. He can't lawyer his way out of conversations with him. Unclear statements have a tendency to lead to a lot of uncomfortable questions at best, and send Abed into an absolute tailspin at worst. He is currently blinking at him in a way that suggests he's formulating a response. Or possibly trying to relay it in Morse Code.

"I care what you guys think of me," He says finally, tilting his head as he speaks. He almost, almost sounds hurt, and Jeff starts to regret his question, guilt bobbing amidst a slight wave of disappointment.

"You do?"

"Sure. I'm not stupid, Jeff, I know you all think I'm weird," he sounds graciously un-offended. "But I can't change it, so I don't try," he shrugs like it's the simplest and most obvious advice in the world, and Jeff knows instantly that he can't follow it. "I tried to be a part of the plot, but my character can't hold major plot lines without annoying people. I'm more like a running gag or maybe a brick joke."

Jeff realizes one second too late that this isn't a conversation he wants to be a part of.

"Actually, most shows don't have my character, but that's okay. You're not really like a sitcom, anyways. You're more like a documentary on History Channel."

Jeff doesn't have the heart to tell Abed that documentaries on History Channel have taken a distinct turn into "Was Jesus Speaking to Us Through The Beatles" territory. "Okay, I'll bite," he responds slowly, still eyeing Abed. "I'm curious to see where this metaphor is going."

"It's a simile, actually," Abed says absent-mindedly. "Have you ever watched a documentary and thought how cool it would be if you could be there, and interact with everybody, but you can't, because it's a documentary. And you've already guessed the ending, anyways."

Jeff thinks that this is probably the rest of the world's relationship with television shows, and that the sitcom metaphor would have worked fine, but he doesn't mention that.

"You're like one big documentary," Abed says, nodding to himself, clearly taken with his comparison. "You're interesting to watch and I learn a lot, but I don't think I'm really supposed to interact. That, and, you can't hold some people's interests, and you're only really believable late at night when only infomercials are on."

Abed also has the uncanny ability to put you in your place with the innocent sincerity of a kindergarten Christmas pageant, and the accuracy of a guided missile. He also hasn't answered Jeff's question in a straightforward manner, and Jeff now realizes that he isn't going to do so. He doesn't think he wants him to, anymore.

"Hey, Abed?" He begins again, wondering if he wants to get into this conversation either.

"Yeah," he has gone back to the eraser dust.

"Did you ever look it up?"

"Look what up?"

"The disorder that Britta's brother works with."

Abed glances up again. This time, his eyes dart frantically around the room, hoping that the group is on its way back by now, perhaps hoping that Troy can answer the question for him, or that Pierce can trip and distract them all. No one has appeared yet. His tone doesn't betray the look in his eyes when he says, "Oh. Yeah. I knew my character didn't exist, but I wanted to know why."

"Oh," Jeff says.

"You were right," he adds the end tag without a trace of irony.

"Oh," he repeats, but he isn't pleased about being right. He thinks it's character development.

But this time he doesn't ask.


End file.
